


A Different Kind of Hell

by xenascully



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt Dean, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1411003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenascully/pseuds/xenascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A snow storm separates the Winchesters, and time is running out for one of them...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Sam!" Dean shouted as he pushed against the bitter cold wind that seemed to be trying to force him in the opposite direction. "Sammy!" he called out again. He was getting scared, now. The snow was up to his knees, and his jeans were soaked halfway up his thighs as he trudged through it, in desperate search for his brother. North Dakota was a bitch in winter. Dean forgot the last time he'd ever been so damned cold.

The brothers had driven up when some campers went missing, leaving behind a bloody and destroyed campsite. No trace of them could be found otherwise. It sounded strangely familiar to the wendigo case they'd worked years ago, only this was more in the right location. Only, what they ended up finding wasn't a wendigo, or anything at all supernatural. Yeah. What they'd found was a huge pile of crap. Literally. The campers had been dragged away, eaten and digested by a pack of wolves; their trails covered by fallen snow. For once, their 'nature guide' came in handy, and identified the several disgusting piles of doggy doo-doo, and the semi-digested pieces of human flesh and bone therein.

Dean had smiled at Sam's "I'm gonna throw up" face, at the time. But he wasn't smiling now. He wasn't smiling at all, because it'd been three hours since Sam had gotten himself separated from them, and it was starting to get dark.

It was stupid, really. They'd started heading back after they discovered the remains. There had been storm clouds forming in the sky above them, and even the guide had grown nervous at the sight of them.

"I don't like the looks of that," he told them. "Meteorologist said there was a chance for a big snow storm tonight. Looks like it'll hit us earlier than expected, which means it's stronger winds than they predicted. We need to get back down, now."

"Okay by me," Dean told him. "We're done here."

"Dean-" Sam tugged Dean's arm right as he'd started to walk.

"What, Sam? You wanna pull a Jurassic Park? Take poo samples while we're here?" he arched an amused brow.

Sam scrunched his face up. "No, dude. I...I gotta..."

"You gotta what?"

"I gotta go."

"Go w-" he paused mid-sentence, realizing what Sam was trying to say. "Oh. Well, go on. You need me to hold your hand or somethin'?"

"Real funny, Dean," Sam replied, annoyed.

"Hurry it up, man. It's gonna start getting colder than it already is."

"You don't have to wait for me. I'll catch up. Just go," Sam urgently waved them off.

"Ohhh..." Dean let out a small laugh. "You gotta go. Have fun finding TP out here," he laughed.

"Shut up, Dean! There's plenty of non-poisonous leaves. Just go!" he shouted as he made his way into the heavier brush. Dean shook his head and laughed, before turning to catch up with the guide.

"Don't you wanna wait for him?" he asked.

"Sam's a good navigator. He won't be long; he eats all that healthy crap that makes your crap less c...less...uh... He won't be long. He'll catch up."

But Sam never caught up. They'd made it all the way back to the guide's SUV without even hearing Sam call out. Dean turned back. But the guide grabbed his arm just as the wind started to pick up. "Just wait! He's probably not far behind, and by the time you get back-stepping, the snow is gonna be too thick to see through, and you'll pass right by each other without even seeing!" he shouted over the wind.

"Then how the hell is Sam supposed to see to get down here?!" Dean shouted. The guide went to his SUV and turned the engine, cutting on the high beams. The light shot straight toward the path they'd come down.

"Now come on, get in the truck until he gets here, or you'll freeze!"

Twenty minutes into the blinding snow, Dean couldn't sit there anymore. Not while his brother was lost out there in this. The outside temperature gauge in the truck said it was fifteen degrees, and it was steadily dropping as the wind picked up. No way he was leaving Sam in that. He pushed the door open after pulling his hood up and pulling the drawstring tight.

"What're you doing?" the guide shouted.

"What the hell do you think? Stay here! In case we need the light to get back!" he slammed the door closed and headed toward the path, only able to see traces of their shoe prints from earlier. "Sammy!" he shouted. "Sam, where the hell are you, man? How much rabbit food did your gigantor ass eat?" He had hoped to hear a bitchy reply from his younger brother. But none came...

Twenty minutes later...

Carl, the nature guide, nervously shook his leg where he still sat in the truck, blindly looking out the windshield at nothing but white, and the faint glow of the high beams beyond it. "I should just go..." he thought. "They're gonna die out there, and I ain't gonna die going after them. No one knows I took them up here. No one even has to know. Those damn wolves...they'll probably get to them before anyone finds them." Carl shook his head. He wasn't a bad guy. He did suggest they wait for Sam in the first place, and he did try to tell Dean not to go back out in the storm. He shouldn't have to lose his job because a couple of stubborn out-of-town private detectives didn't wanna listen.

A slam against the passenger window pulled him from his thoughts and made him jump. The door swung open, and the taller of the brothers appeared. After a quick glance around inside the vehicle, he turned to the guide. "Where's Dean?"

"Out looking for you!"

"What?"

"I told him to wait, but he wouldn't listen!"

"How long has he been out there?" he asked, angrily.

"Little over twenty minutes, I think," he replied.

"Damnit! I've gotta go find him-"

"At least warm up a bit, first!" the guide shouted. "You won't do him any good dead!"

Sam's lips formed a thin line as logic outweighed his instinctual need to go find Dean. He climbed into the seat and closed the door, grateful for a break from the harsh, bitter wind. He furiously rubbed his hands together, then up and down his thighs, attempting to speed up the warming process.

"So what happened out there?" Carl asked.

"Got turned around, once the storm started," Sam told him. Eventually I saw the headlights; started heading this way. Definitely wasn't the path we came up on."

"I'd be surprised if you'd have seen each other if you'd been on the right path, right now anyway."

"I need to get back out there. It's getting worse."

"Wait," Carl sighed. "Look...just...at least take this pack with you," he reached into the back seat and pulled a huge back pack up front. "It's got winter weather survival gear in it, as well as food and water. There's stuff to make a small shelter and fire... In case you do find him and you can't get back down right away."

"What're you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna go get some help, before this damn truck gets stuck in the snow," he replied. "I'm not gonna leave you guys out here to die. Even if I've gotta bring back a chopper once this storm clears..."

Dean. Present time...

"S-Sa-" Dean's voice was barely audible anymore. His throat was raw and numb. He was cold from the inside out, and yet somehow he managed to keep on walking. But even that was getting difficult, now. His muscles were stiff. He couldn't pick up his leg to take a step, but pushed through the knee-high snow to move forward.

The snow had stopped, and the wind wasn't even as bad anymore. But it was pitch dark, and the temperature was still dropping. Not that he could get any colder than he already was. He was pretty damned sure of that. And if he was this cold, Sam was, too. He couldn't let himself stop; not until he found his brother. Hopefully that idiot nature guide would come back for them, because Dean wasn't really a hundred percent clear on what, exactly, he was gonna be able to do once he did find Sam. He desperately tried not to think about the possibility of finding him dead and blue, face down in the cotton-white hell.

The thought seeped into his head against his will. It was upon trying to shake it out, that he tripped over his own foot and came crashing down into the three feet of freezing wonderland. "Sh-sh-shit...n-n-n-no!" he cursed, realizing that all of his muscles were seized to the point that he could do nothing to get himself back up again...


	2. Chapter 2

"Dean!" Sam called out into the dark, shivering at the dropping temperature. He was glad it had stopped snowing, at least. The heavy pack and the extra coat had been keeping him warm enough, until this point. He really couldn't feel his face anymore, but he kept calling out for his brother, straining to hear him return a shout or a noise- something. Sam wasn't even sure he was going the right way anymore. But he wasn't leaving without Dean. No matter what that meant. "Dean!" he shouted again, pausing to wait for a response.

He thought he heard something rustling up ahead, and shined his flashlight in that direction. Just in time to see his brother collapse into the snow. "Dean!" he yelled and took off in as fast a sprint as he could manage in the deep snow beneath his feet. His brother was about fifty yards ahead of him when he fell. The fact that he'd not answered when he'd called out in the first place, worried Sam. Maybe the cold had effected his hearing. "Dean!" Sam dropped the pack from his shoulders and let it fall to the ground as he skidded to his knees beside his brother's fallen body. He panicked when Dean's only response was a choking sound, and realized that his face was planted in the snow.

Quickly as he could manage, Sam pulled him up and turned him so he was on his side in Sam's lap. Dean immediately began coughing up the water that he'd not been able to help breathing in. This freaked Sam out a little, seeing the blue tinge to Dean's skin, and the bit of water dribble down his chin.

"I've got you," Sam told him, trying to pat Dean's back to assist him in coughing up the fluid, though Dean seemed to have stopped. "I got you," Sam repeated.

"Sa- Sam-my?" Dean's hoarse voice sounded.

"Yeah, it's me," he replied, glad to hear him speak, even though his voice sounded awful.

"Y- kay?"

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam tried to turn him onto his back. "Worried about you. You look like crap."

Dean groaned as he was turned onto his back, and looked up at Sam, once he was able. "'m f-f...fr-eaking..c-cold, m-man..."

"Yeah, you're like ice. Like seriously, you're..." Sam started looking around with his flashlight, and spotted a patch of land untouched by the snow, since there was a towering pine tree over it. "Come on," he stood, pulling Dean up with a grunt, and started mostly dragging him toward the tree. Once he reached the clearing, he propped his brother so he was sitting with his back against the trunk. The moment he let go, Dean curled in on himself and began to rock back and forth in quick, jerky motions.

Sam looked around for the back-pack, and upon spotting it, he looked back down at Dean. "Just...just stay here," he told him, and Dean slowly looked up at him with as incredulous of a look as he could manage, which would have made Sam laugh if Dean's lips weren't such a scary shade of blue. He left Dean to go for the pack.

Dean could barely get a single thought to complete in his head. He rocked in an instinctive plight to get warm, as the body-wracking shivers seemed to not be helping anything. He watched through heavy-lidded eyes as Sam walked away, shining light out in front of him. And suddenly he wasn't sure what was happening; why Sam was leaving.

"S-S-mmy!" his voice crackled as he tried to call out.

"Right here, Dean!" his voice didn't sound very far away. And then he was back in front of him, crouching with the light shining into the back pack as he searched for something. "Should be stuff to make a fire, in here," he heard Sam tell him. "We gotta get you warmed up."

"W-w..."

"Here we go," Sam pulled out a kit, then immediately began to collect a pile of timber that had been the only fortunate thing to come from the high winds earlier. He was quick to get the fire going, though the wood was too damp for it to be very big. Slightly frustrated, he gave a nervous sigh and turned back to his brother. Dean wasn't moving anymore. "Dean?" Sam moved closer, putting his hand on his face, and then down to his neck to check his pulse. His heart-rate seemed slow. "No no no," Sam's panic picked up, and his mind began to race with everything he ever learned about survival in extreme cold.

He dove for the back pack again, pulling the sleeping bag from where it was tied underneath it, and going back into the pack to see if there was something like a tarp. What he found was the shelter kit, and though he didn't really have time to put it up, he could use the plastic to lay out on the ground and make a barrier so that the sleeping bag wouldn't get wet.

Quickly, he got the plastic laid out and the sleeping bag open, then turned to Dean. He began stripping Dean of his clothes, right down to his boxers and socks, and maneuvered him to lie in the open sleeping bag. Within moments, he'd stripped himself down to the same, crawled up close beside his brother, and closed up the sleeping bag around them.

It was a shock to his own system, as he wrapped himself around his frozen brother, attempting to give him the heat his body so desperately needed right now. The intensity of the cold was almost like the unnatural sensation of burning alive. Sam couldn't stop the memory of Hell creeping into his mind. He wasn't sure how long he'd been in it, before he heard Dean groan against his shoulder.

"S-am?" his body shook. "S-so damn...c-cold..."

"It's okay, Dean. I've g-got you," Sam told him, realizing his own body was shaking now.

"'m I...n-naked?"

"Mostly. This is so you don't f-freeze to death."

"Y-y-you're-"

"I'll be f-fine, Dean."

"W..w-wolves?"

"I've got a f-fire going. Should start drying out the w-wood and pick up a bit h-higher, soon. Plus...Carl kn-knows we're out here. Shouldn't be too m-much longer." He felt Dean burrow impossibly closer into his chest, unashamedly burying his face against whatever warmth he could find on Sam's skin. Sam shivered, unsure whether it was because of the cold, or the fear for his brother's well-being that had him on edge...


	3. Chapter 3

Sam woke with a start, not having realized he'd fallen asleep at all in the first place. The sky wasn't so dark anymore; the first orangey signs of dawn coloring horizon. Amazingly, the timber was still smoking; remaining wood still glowing hot, though the fire had gone out. A rustling beside them, made Sam turn his head.

It took less than a second for Sam to realize they were in trouble.

There in the clearing stood a large wolf, staring at the two of them as if deciding which would be the appetizer. Now, the Winchesters were no strangers to dangerous situations. But it occurred to Sam, in that moment, that he'd never had a situation involving an actual wolf. Werewolf, sure. They were monsters. But wolves? They were pretty much wild dogs. Sam loved dogs.

When the wolf's lips furled back and he bore his teeth with a growl, he remembered how this wolf had recently devoured human beings, and realized that he should really make a dive for the backpack and retrieve his gun. But a sudden move like that could cause the wolf to make his move. So Sam slowly reached back, snaking his arm behind him as smoothly as he could manage.

"Dean," Sam whispered, as his brother began to stir. "Dean, hold still. Wolf."

Dean froze. "Guns?"

"Trying to get to them." He had stowed Dean's gun in the pack when he stripped him down earlier. Dean tried to ignore the fact that he was naked in a sleeping bag with his naked brother. "Oh damn..."

"What? What's oh damn?"

"More wolves."

"Oh. Damn..."

"Yeah."

"Guns?"

"Got 'em."

"Well then what're you so worried about?"

"Kinda naked at the moment."

"I noticed," Dean replied. "You worried one of them's got a camera?"

"I kinda hate you right now."

"You love me."

"Not something I'm willing to agree to when we're both naked in a sleeping bag."

"I think you love me even more, now that we're both naked in a sleeping bag."

"Can we please get up and kill these things now?"

"Thought you'd never ask. On three. One...two...three..." They burst out of the sleeping bag, guns drawn and backs to each other. The pack began to close in, and Dean took the first shot, taking out the wolf closest to him. The others moved back a bit, but didn't leave. They waited, and then one went for Sam, and Dean quickly took aim and took it down.

Soon, they were both shooting at the wolves, taking out four more, before the last two decided to retreat. The adrenaline rush had made them less aware of the fact that it was still freezing out. But it quickly wore off, and had them scrambling for their clothes. Sam had just thrown his teeshirt on over his head, when he saw Dean have to pause and catch his balance.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

"Fine," Dean replied, maybe a bit too quickly. "Maybe a little hungry. When the hell is Carl supposed to get here?"

"I don't know why he's not here yet, actually. Not sure how long it's been since the storm stopped, but I feel like he should've been here with help by now." Sam pulled on his flannel shirt and then his jacket, then grabbed for the back pack again. "He said there was food in here. Unless you wanna add some wood to the fire and roast up Balto," he motioned toward the wolves.

"You know what's kinda weird?" Dean asked. "Why are these bastards so damn hungry so soon after eating their weight in long-pig?"

Sam swallowed, a pensive look on his face as he tossed Dean his coat. He glanced around at the dead wolves where they lay. "It is odd that they seem to have taken a liking to it," he said after a moment. "And it's not like the food supply is scarce in these woods." He thought a little more about it as he packed the sleeping bag up. "You think there's something supernatural about this, after all?" he asked.

"Not really sure," Dean raised his brows. "I mean, we killed them with regular bullets."

"Yeah... There is that." His thoughts were cut short when Dean started to cough. As he swung the backpack over his shoulders, the cough just seemed to keep going, until Dean was bend over with his hands on his thighs. "You okay?" Sam asked, concerned.

"Yeah," he squeaked in reply, clearing his throat and trying again, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just...I've been out in the cold. So I'm probably getting...ya know, a cold." He straightened back up. "Let's get the hell outta here before they decide to come back for attempt number two."

Sam nodded, and they headed down the path that would lead them out. "Wonder if the hike back outta here will take as long as it did getting in."

"Not if we haul ass," Dean replied. "Took me a few hours to get where I did, but the wind was slowin' me down. That and I was listening for you, so I stopped a lot."

"You should've waited for me a little longer," Sam shook his head.

"Excuse me for freaking out, thinkin' you might've fallen and hit your head and been unconscious and buried in the damn snow," he retorted. "I wasn't gonna wait around and find out I could've saved you."

"I got back to Carl twenty minutes after you left to find me," Sam told him. "I wasn't even this far out. I took a wrong turn when the snow kicked up, but I backtracked and...well, eventually saw the headlights and started following those. You damn near took us all the way back out to the crime scene."

"I'm surprised I was going in the right direction. Couldn't see my hand held out in front of me for most of it."

"Point is, you coulda died if I hadn't found you when I did, Dean."

"Come on," he stopped, turning to look at Sam, with a look of disbelief on his face. "I wasn't that bad off."

"You were face down, drowning in melting snow," Sam retorted. Dean scoffed. "I'm serious! You might not remember, but I sure as hell do. You were choking up water when I turned you over."

Dean's eyes looked a bit to the side in thought, for a moment. "Well," he looked back at Sam, "I'm fine, now. So let's just get outta here, okay?" he turned and started to hike again.

"Dean-"

"Drop it, Sam," he replied, not stopping. "I'm never just gonna wait and see if you make it out alive. That's not how I work."

Sam huffed a sigh, and took off to catch up with his brother...


	4. Chapter 4

They'd been about an hour into the hike, having dismissed the previous conversation and moving on to talk about wolves and everything Sam knew about them, and then somehow into the topic of dogs and how Sam had always wanted one. Which took an unexpected turn into the time when Sam ran away to Flagstaff and had that dog.

"Bones," Dean said. "That was his name, right?" He didn't wait for an answer, "Yeah I remember how that showed up in your idea of Heaven. You know, the one where you ran away."

"Dean..."

"Nah, I get it. You wanted away, and you did it. Never mind that dad was so pissed, that he went and drank more than I'd ever seen him drink before, then decided that it was my fault you were gone, and beat the holy hell outta me. As long as you had a great time away from me, with your awesome dog."

"What?" Dean felt Sam's hand grab hard at his arm to stop him in his tracks and spin him around to face him.

"What do you mean, what?"

Sam's face twisted, "Dad... He beat you?"

"What part of 'worst night of my life' didn't you understand, when I said it the first time, huh?" Dean replied. "You left me. You left me with him. Ya know," he shook his head, a grim smile playing on his face, "What you said after Max killed himself, about 'a little more drinkin' and a little less hunting, and that coulda been us'? Yeah. Absolutely true," he turned and started walking again. "Can't really hunt, when you're busy thinkin' your son is missing or could be dead."

"Dean..." Sam moved, only to keep up with his brother. "I...I had no idea."

"Yeah well, it's in the past. Doesn't matter."

"Yes it does matter!"

"What the hell do you care, Sam, huh?" he turned again, Sam almost crashing into him. "You never got a hand laid on you. I made sure of that."

"I care because you're my brother! If I'd known he was gonna do that..."

"You'd what?" Dean tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. "You would've stayed?" Sam looked guiltily at him, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Wouldn't have changed anything," he said, continuing his pace down the trail.

"What?" Sam asked as he followed him again.

"Nevermind."

"No, Dean-"

"I said drop it, okay?" Dean yelled, unwilling to continue the discussion. The action started him coughing again. He wasn't sure when it had forced him to stop; when it had gotten so strong that he could barely catch a breath, and it was hard to keep his balance.

Sam's hand on his back made him realize he was bent over again, hands on his thighs for support. "I don't like the sound of that cough, Dean."

"I'm fine," he countered. "Just need to get the hell out of this cold, is all."

"Here," Sam reached into the backpack and pulled out a bottle of water, handing it to his brother. "At least drink some of this." Dean begrudgingly took the bottle and started a slower pace down the path...

*~.~*

It took two hours to get out of the woods. Another fifteen minutes to hike to where they'd parked the Impala. Before that, though, they'd found Carl's truck stuck in the snow, not a mile from where it had originally been. But Carl was no where to be found, and there were no tracks leading away from the truck. Sam and Dean had to assume someone had come to pick him up.

"He wouldn't have gone out after us," Sam reinforced. "He might've gotten stuck and ended up passed out from the cold. Someone probably picked him up and took him to a hospital, which explains why no one knows we were out here."

"You're probably right," Dean agreed as they got into the car. "If he'd waited out the storm and come looking for us, we'd have seen him on the way back."

"You want me to drive?" Sam asked, concerned still.

"I'm fine, Sam. How many times do I gotta say it?" he meant to say it with some punch behind it, but it didn't quite come out with much strength.

"Okay..." Sam let it go, though he kept the corner of his eye on his brother...

*~.~*

They stopped for gas at the first station they came to, about twenty miles away. Luckily, there was a diner connected to the pay station, and they decided to go in and order coffee. They say at the bar waiting on the to-go cups, and glanced over at the television that was on the wall, as the news came on.

"The body of Deputy Carl Sagen was found just minutes ago several miles into the Tetrault woods," the anchorwoman said. Both brothers' attention was now fully and incredulously glued to the screen. "Sources say Sagen was surrounded by six adult wolves, also deceased. Sagen and the wolves seemed to have been shot, and what seems to be a campsite near by abandoned. Police aren't sure if it was Sagen's campsite, but as of yet, have no idea who else might've been up there during last night's storm. What has local authorities baffled, is why Deputy Sagen was found without clothing, aside from what seemed to have been a wolf pelt..."

"We should go," Sam quietly told Dean, who turned away from the screen toward the waitress that was setting their paper cups of coffee down in front of them.

"Yeah," Deam replied, and pulled out his wallet, dropping a few bills on the bar. "Thanks," he told her, then grabbed his cup and nudged Sam to follow him out...


	5. Chapter 5

"Holy crap, what the hell!?" Dean shouted as they sped off away from the diner.

"I can't believe..."

"I know!"

"...Carl was a with...err a warlock, rather."

"What?" Dean glanced over at Sam with an incredulous look on his face. "How do you figure?"

"The wolf pelt he was wearing," he looked to Dean, "There's a type of Navajo witch, a yee naaldlooshii is what they're like skinwalkers, only they wear the animal pelt in order to change into the animal."

"Why in the hell would he wanna be a wolf?"

"Why not? But I think he did it for a more specific reason. I think he wanted those people killed; the ones we found the remains of. I don't know why. He must've been wolfing out for a while, though, to have gotten the pack to follow him like that."

"Dude, are you saying this guy lead these wolves to not only kill but eat several human beings? You know that means...Carl...ate people..."

"Yeah," Sam grimaced.

"Guess we took out the bad guy without even knowing it," Dean sighed, and it unexpectedly turned into a cough.

"Dude, we should stop and get you some cough syrup or something," Sam said as Dean continued to cough. Sam watched as Dean seemed to not be able to stop the coughing, and grew increasingly concerned as Dean ended up pulling off the side of the road. "Dean, are you-"

"You should drive," he squeaked between coughs. "And there's...stuff in the trunk," he got out, taking the keys and heading to the back of the car. Sam got out and went to Dean's side. "Meds will probably make me drowsy," Dean told him as he quickly found the old box of likely expired cold medication. "You okay to drive while I catch some z's?"

"'course," Sam took the keys, still looking worriedly at his brother.

"I'm fine, Sam. Quit worrying," he closed the trunk and made his way around Sam and to the passenger seat...

*~.~*

As Sam pulled into a rather shady looking motel ten hours later, Dean was anything but fine. In fact, Sam had made the executive decision to stop now because Dean hadn't woken up since he'd passed out shortly after they swapped, and for the past couple of hours, he'd been sweating. Sam had finally reached over to feel just his cheek, and there was no doubt he was running a fever. Even after parking, checking in, and pulling up in front of their room, Dean hadn't stirred.

Sam opened the motel room door, quickly brought their bags in and pulled the covers down on one of the beds, before coming back out to get Dean. He was hesitant to open the door, since Dean was pretty well resting the full weight of his upper body against it. But he figured maybe it would wake him up. Carefully, he opened the door. And once Dean's brain seemed to sense he was beginning to fall, he jolted to some bit of consciousness.

"Wha-?" Dean's lids half-opened and looked around, confused.

Sam crouched down, supporting his brother as he began to list dangerously as though he'd topple out of the car anyway. "We're stopped," he explained, supportive hand on Dean's arm.

"Why?"

"Because you're sick."

"'m fine."

"You're not. You're burning up, man. We need to stop and make sure you're okay. Can you walk?"

"'course I can walk," Dean said, without much convincing bite. He moved to get out of the car, managed to stand up, but then immediately began losing his balance and started to go down again. But Sam caught him and started leading him out as he shut the door of the Impala. Dean was heavily relying on his brother to keep him upright, and the feeling sleep had blocked out was suddenly rushing full force into his senses. "Don't feel so good, Sammy," he almost whispered as they entered the room.

"I've got you," Sam told him as he led him to the bed. Dean all but collapsed into it, with Sam directing his body to go the right way. "Man, how much of those meds did you take?"

"Dunno...hand full."

"Dude-"

"They're old, Sam," he swiped a hand down his face. "I figured I'd need more for them to actually work."

"Well no wonder you've been sleeping like the dead."

"Just cough suppressants."

"Like that makes a difference," Sam retorted. "You know better, Dean."

"I'm sorry," Dean whined. "Please. I really don't...I don't feel right."

"Yeah, because you've got a fever," Sam told him. "I'm gonna go get some ice. And hopefully there's a restaurant open close by that serves soup..."


	6. Chapter 6

When Sam got back to the room, Dean was curled on his side, hugging his arms around himself and shivering. He hated what he'd have to do. After wetting a towel, Sam filled it with as much ice as it'd hold folded up, and brought it to the bed. "Dean, I've gotta put this on your head, okay?"

As soon as the cold registered, Dean flailed, "What the hell! I'm already freezing, Sam!"

"No, Dean, you're burning up," Sam argued. "You've gotta cool down. I brought you some Tylenol, but I afraid you're gonna throw up if you have any more drugs in your system."

"Gimme the damn Tylenol," Dean grumbled.

"Sit up," Sam instructed as he grabbed the pills from his pocket and reached for a bottle of water he'd grabbed from the vending machine outside.

Dean slowly pushed himself up, taking the pills from Sam's hand and putting them in his mouth, then reached for the bottle, weakly, and took a few sips before handing it back. He kinda lingered there for a moment, his eyes floating a bit, looking nowhere in particular. His face was flushed pink from the fever, and he looked so vulnerable to Sam right now.

Sam put a hand on Dean's cheek, just to feel if the fever was as bad, still, or worse. Dean met his eyes with a bit of question. "I don't remember ever seeing you like this before, Dean," Sam told him, concern washing his face.

Dean stared for a moment, then casually replied, "Am I purple?" Sam let out a small laugh, but it faded quickly as Dean's lids grew heavy again.

He led Dean to lie back down, and put the ice pack back over his forehead. "I'm gonna try and find you something to eat," Sam told him. "You'll be okay, right?"

"Yeah. I'm okay..."

"Dean..." Sam didn't want to leave him, but it'd been more than 24 hours since either of them ate anything. He grabbed Dean's cell out of his jacket pocket and placed it in Dean's hand. "If something happens...if you start to feel worse, you call me right away, okay?"

"Kay."

"I mean it. There's a diner not far from here. I could walk there, but it'd be faster to drive. I'll be back in five minutes. Five minutes, okay?"

"I'm not an invalid, Sam."

"Good to hear," Sam stood from the bed. "Just...don't get up, okay? If you need something, wait till I get back."

"What if I gotta pee?"

"Hold it."

"You're not the boss of me," he replied, pathetically.

"I am, till you're better."

"Says who?"

"Says the guy who can stand up straight without falling over, and maintain a normal body temperature without the aid of medication. Now, let me go get you some food. Stay put!" Dean simply grunted in response, and Sam grabbed the keys and locked Dean in the room before heading to the diner as fast as he could manage.

True to his word, Sam was back in just a little over 5 minutes. Dean was out cold, again. But as Sam checked his forehead with the back of his hand, he could tell his fever wasn't burning quite as hot anymore. He walked back to the door to lock it, then opened the paper bag to retrieve the container of creamy chicken noodle soup that he was so relieved they had. It wasn't often that they caught a break, with the little things especially.

After unwrapping the plastic spoon and cracking the lid open on the container, Sam made his way to the edge of the bed and sat down. "Dean," he shook him lightly by the arm.

"Mm?"

"Food."

"Mm," he grunted.

"You gotta sit up, Dean."

He grunted, or more groaned and forced himself to crack open his eyes as he pushed up and back against the wall behind the bed. "What's for dinner?" he asked, groggily.

"Chicken noodle."

When Dean put together how Sam was sitting, and how he was holding the soup, he got a thoughtful expression on his face. "What're you gonna feed me, now?"

"Well..."

"Dude, just give me the bowl. I'm sick, not paralyzed."

*~.~*

The sun was just starting to peek in through the curtains, after both brothers had gotten a decent night of sleep. Sam was pulled into consciousness by the sound of Dean violently coughing in the bed next to his. He shot up in an instant, just in time to see Dean get up and go toward the bathroom.

"Dean, you okay?" Sam asked. Dean didn't answer. But he hadn't shut the door behind him, either. Sam got up and followed after him, finding his brother hovering over the toilet, keeping himself standing with a hand against the wall behind it. The coughing seemed painful, as Dean was clutching his other hand to his chest and his eyes were squeezed closed. Sam stood by, helplessly, watching as Dean struggled against it; swallowing in attempt to ease it back some. But it wouldn't seem to stop. And then he was gagging, and Sam panicked as Dean threw up last night's soup. Though he likely knew it was going to happen, since he'd gotten himself to the bathroom.

Sam was frozen where he stood, until Dean seemed to stop and suddenly sink down to his knees on the floor, eyes still closed as he struggled to catch his breath. Sam was beside him in a heartbeat, laying a hand on his back as he down. "Dean...I should take you to a hospital."

"'m okay, now," he replied, breathlessly, opening his eyes to look over at his brother. "'sides, it's a flu, Sam. They can't do anything."

"It's kinda gotten really bad really fast," Sam retorted. "Last night I thought it was just the meds, but you're...really sick, Dean."

"Just go steal some antibiotics or something," Dean replied, casually.

"What if they don't help?"

"Then...then I'll go to a damn doctor, okay?"

"You promise?"

"Yeah I promise, Sam. Now help me off this floor."


	7. Chapter 7

So, something crazy happened. Sam had been so worried about his brother, that he'd somehow gotten himself caught. Actually caught. Right as he'd gotten to some antibiotics during his fake appointment at a nearby clinic that had a pharmacy inside the building. He'd thought about making a run for it, before the cops could get there and take him from the security officers who had cuffed him and had him watched in the office. But he didn't want to make matters worse, and end up not being able to get back to Dean at all.

So here he was, sitting in a damned holding cell, awaiting his chance to pick the lock and get out of there undetected. He already had something to do it with, too, as the cops hadn't been very thorough in searching him before putting him in there. He just needed to wait until there was no one around. So far, it seemed to be taking forever.

He'd left Dean some time before noon. It was nearing midnight, and the night guard was being annoyingly present. But he'd also been drinking a boatload of water, and Sam knew it was inevitable that he'd need to leave to use the restroom. It'd give him enough time to pick the lock and slip out the back door to the fire escape he'd spotted on the way in. When the big dark-skinned man began doing 'the pee-pee dance', Sam readied himself. As soon as the guard left the hall toward the rest room on the other side of the building, Sam was quick to get himself out of the cell. It was even easier than he'd though, getting out to the fire escape. He wasted no time running like hell away from the building.

It was almost scary how easy it was to escape a jail cell, Sam had pondered on several occasions. He really hoped that the real bad guys were being held in more secure prisons.

As he tore down the third alley, Sam began to think about the dilemma that still remained; he had no meds for Dean. The hotel room was twenty-eight blocks from the jail. Sam had run farther, in the past. But he couldn't run fast enough, tonight. He needed to get Dean and move them the hell out of town fast. He could only hope that they wouldn't go as far as to set up road blocks for whom they assumed was a simple junkie.

It took a grueling fifteen minutes at full-speed, to get to the hotel. Another few minutes to pick the lock on the door (thank god he'd decided to toss his key so the cops wouldn't trace him back to the room), and he found his brother curled up in one of the beds; body drenched in a feverish sweat. "Crap," Sam muttered as he went to Dean's side to appraise him more closely. He didn't have time to tend to the fever. He needed to get them both the hell outta Dodge. "Dean?" he crouched beside him, wiping a cloth over his sweaty face.

"S'm?" Dean's eyes cracked open a bit. "Where...where were you? Was worried..."

"Got into some trouble," Sam cracked a half-smile, embarrassed. "I need to get us outta here. Think you're up for a ride?"

"'kay," Dean replied, followed by a spell of coughing. Sam helped him through it, sitting him up and holding him back against his chest. Dean groaned in between coughs, holding a hand to his chest at the pain the coughing caused him. Once he seemed to be breathing again, Sam moved to pull Dean's jacket over his shoulders for him. That's when he noticed the color of his brother's lips.

"Shit, Dean," he cursed, pushing Dean's arms into the sleeves of the jacket. "You seriously need a doctor. You're lips are freaking blue, Dean."

He expected an argument. He received none. Sam paused to look at Dean, who was now looking directly at Sam with heavy-lidded, spacey eyes; almost looking right through him. Sam couldn't have been more afraid.

Within five minutes, Sam had the car packed with their stuff, and Dean safely buckled into the passenger seat beside him; a pillow placed against the door so he could comfortably rest. He kept his speed legal until he was outside the city limits, and then tore off like Dick Roman out of a house-cleaning party. He drove until Dean's coughing turned into struggled wheezing, and Sam couldn't possibly not stop at the next hospital he could find.

The Impala came to a screeching halt in the ambulance bay ER entrance. Sam pulled Dean out through the driver's side, picking him up and carrying him as if he were a child and only weighed as much. The adrenaline from fear, had Sam not even realizing how heavy Dean actually was. "Somebody help!" Sam called out as he headed toward the doors. He looked down at his brother. Dean's eyes were fighting to open. His breaths were short and barely pulling in. His face was pale, and it made the blue tint in his lips seem all the more horrifying.

Fear gripped Sam even tighter. "Somebody help us!" he shouted again, entering the emergency room. A few figures appeared around him; specific job titles, Sam hadn't bothered to even think about. "He's sick... He's...something's wrong," he explained.

"Sir, what happened?" a female doctor asked, as an orderly and nurse moved in quickly with a gurney, and took Dean from Sam.

"He...we got trapped in the storm. He was in the snow. Freezing," Sam tried to explain.

"How long ago?" the doctor asked, moving to listen to Dean's heart and lungs with a stethoscope as they moved down the hallway.

"Y-yesterday...no," Sam shook his head. "Two nights ago," he corrected. "He's been sick, coughing. It got bad fast, but he wouldn't let me take him to be seen..." His attention was pulled away from the doctor as he saw Dean begin to shift on the gurney. Sam pushed past the orderly and grabbed onto Dean's hand as he watched him suddenly struggling to breathe at all. "Dean!" Sam tried to get him to look at him, but there was no response. He turned to the doctor, who was saying something to the orderly about moving Dean. "What's happening? What's happening to him?!" he shouted.

"Sir, please let us take care of him," the doctor told him. "You've gotta get out of our way!" she pushed past him and they started to move faster down the hall, Sam's hand slipping from Dean's loosened fingers.

Sam stood there, watching as they disappeared around the corner. His chest was tight; heart pounding in his chest. His eyes burned, and he realized that it'd been a long damn time since he'd been so terrified. Dean was sick. Really sick. This wasn't a monster or some supernatural thing he could magically pull him out of.

And that scared the hell out of him...


	8. Chapter 8

Sam paced the hall, up and down, turning his head every couple of minutes toward the door they'd disappeared through with Dean. He hated waiting; hated not knowing what was happening to his brother. A nurse had come out and asked him a bunch of questions, earlier. But she didn't really have many answers to give. Just that Dean was in good hands.

Sam was never very quick to believe such a statement.

Finally, the doctor came out, walking directly toward Sam. They met each other half way.

"How is he?" Sam asked, worriedly.

"Your brother has a severe case of rapid-onset pneumonia, affecting both lungs," the doctor told him.

"I...I thought you had to be sick first..."

"Usually that is the case," he told him. "But this isn't completely rare, either. Especially since it was melted snow he inhaled. The bacteria could've come from anywhere. But I must say, had you waited another 24 hours to get him here, he might not have made it."

A series of emotions of shock and guilt flashed across Sam's face for a moment. "But he'll be okay, right? Since he's here?"

"We've started him on a heavy course of antibiotics. Dean has a fever, elevated heart rate, his respiration and oxygenation levels are, as you can imagine, very out of whack. Not to mention the low blood pressure and lack of mental function at this time-"

"Wait, what? Lack of what?" Sam panicked.

"When you brought him in, he was barely conscious. When he's awake, now, it's the same thing. There's no communication. It's likely the lack of oxygen may have caused his brain to do a sorta of emergency semi-shut down to preserve itself."

"N-not permanent?"

"I don't believe so, but I can't make any guarantees, Sam," he replied. Sam nodded, tearfully, swallowing against the lump growing in his throat. "Now, we'll be keeping him here until he's stabilized. Most cases, that takes around three days. Once he gets there, we'll look at the possibility of home care until he's well. I'd rather get my patients out of here as soon as they can, to risk further infection."

Sam nodded again. "Can...can I see him?"

"Of course," the doctor told him. "Seeing as you've already been around him, further exposure won't change anything."

"I won't...endanger him by being in there, will I?"

"As long as you're not sick to pass along something he's not already afflicted with, no. And pneumonia, itself, isn't contagious. Just follow me..."

*~.~*

Sam entered Dean's hospital room alone, after being shown where to go. His stomach dropped a bit, seeing him lying there with an oxygen mask over his face, and IVs running to his arm. As Sam approached the bed, he glanced at the machinery around his brother. They were monitoring is heart-rate and oxygen levels, in addition to the blood pressure cuff that was set on a timer on Dean's right arm.

Sam reached the side of the bed, not taking his eyes from Dean's face. He was pale, but at least the blue had mostly left his lips. Decidedly, Dean looked better than when Sam had brought him in. This was marginally comforting to Sam. He reached out and put a hand on Dean's, that lay limply beside him on the bed. And he felt his eyes begin to water when he remembered how the doctor said he couldn't guarantee no brain damage.

Then he felt Dean's fingers twitch under his, and he looked down at the hand before looking back to Dean's face. "Dean?" he quiet called out to him.

Dean's eyes moved under the lids, and Sam could see as he struggled to try and open them.

"It's okay. You need to rest," Sam told him, putting another hand on Dean's shoulder.

"S'm..." Dean half whispered, half croaked.

"You're gonna be okay, Dean," Sam assured him. "We're at the hospital. They're gonna make you better."

"'m s'ry," Dean breathed.

"Not your fault," Sam replied, his face scrunching up in guilt. "It's mine. And I shouldn't have listened to you. I should've brought you here sooner."

Dean slowly shook his head, groaning, "Nnnnn..."

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam said in almost a whisper. And he looked down at their hands as Dean's turned and gripped onto his...


	9. Chapter 9

Dean had lost consciousness after that moment, his hand loosening its grip on Sam's. And Sam had sunk down into a chair beside the bed, doing his best to hold in the bubbling feelings of anguish and guilt. Dean could've died. He got sick when he came looking for him, and he got bad because Sam waited to take him to the hospital. It was his fault.

But he didn't have time to wallow in the overwhelming guilt that threatened to shake him with sobs that screamed to break through. No. He had to suck it up and be here for Dean. He needed to help him to get better.

It was a couple of hours before the nurse's routine administrations at his bedside woke him from what seemed to be a sort of peaceful sleep. Sam had been silent and curled as much as possible into the chair to keep out of the way. Until he heard the telltale groan that Dean had begun the slow slip from unconsciousness. Then Sam was at the edge of his seat, ready for...well, whatever Dean might need him for. What he didn't realize is that he'd also enveloped one of Dean's hands into both of his own.

Dean's body began, what looked like, spasming, and Sam was suddenly on his feet and freaking.

"Let's sit him up," the nurse told Sam, semi-calmly, which Sam picked up on right away that she'd been using her training not to show panic.

"What's happening to him?" Sam asked as he assisted in sitting Dean upright. But she didn't have to answer as Dean was able in this position to properly expel some of the fluid build-up from his lungs. The coughing was deep and productive, and even though Sam knew that it was necessary and good, the struggle in Dean's features pulled achingly at Sam's heart. He wished he could trade places with him...

But it wasn't until Dean was finished with the bout of coughing, that Sam had to fight tears. The nurse pulled away the basin that Dean had brought up the fluid into, and left Sam to support him remaining upright as she took it away. And Dean coughed one last time and drew in a painful breath, groaning pitifully, face pinched in agony as he gripped his aching chest.

"Dean?" Sam held onto him and moved to sit on the edge of the bed to get a better look at his brother's face.

Dean opened his red eyes and looked at his brother, groaning again, though he tried his damnedest not to. "Hurts," he told him, then took in another shaky breath. "Hurts to...cough. My chest...on fire, dude..."

"I'm sorry," Sam's face pinched, momentarily, and then he slipped his game face back on and helped Dean to lay back down on the raised head of the bed. He placed a hand on Dean's chest. "I'll see if there's something they can do; something they can give you."

"Sam?" Dean rasped. "Can I...have a drink of water? Mouth is dry." The pauses for breaths between words was a testament to the amount of pain he was in.

"Yeah, uh..." Sam glanced around, looking for the water they'd brought in for him earlier. The nurse returned, then, with a clean basin. Sam looked to her, "Can he have some water?"

"Sure, honey," she replied. "Slow sips through a straw. Don't need you choking and starting another coughing spell, no do we?" she gave Dean a shy smile.

"He's in pain," Sam told her. "His chest, from the coughing. Is there something you can give him?"

"I'll see what we have," she told him. "The doctor might be able to give him some meds for some of the pain, but what he needs is a brace, or something to hold onto to support the ribcage. We did have some braces, but had to dispose of them after they became contaminated. What we can do is get some blankets and roll them up. All he's gotta to is hold them against his chest as he coughs, and it should help cushion and absorb a lot of the impact from the movements and help stop it from feeling worse."

Sam nodded in acknowledgment as he held the cup of water and led the straw to Dean's lips. Dean took a few small sips and indicated that he was done. After a few breaths, and Sam setting the cup down on the side table, Dean looked up at him. "No more...arctic hunting..." That got a tiny side-long smirk out of Sam, but Dean could see the sadness behind it. The guilt. He remembered what Sam had said before he'd passed out, earlier. "Dude," Dean gave Sam's hand a squeeze, making the younger brother realize he was holding his hand again without having known until now. "This ain't your fault." Sam's brows pinched, and he fought to keep the emotion off of his face. "Seriously, little bro. I don't...blame you. So you...can't either, okay?"

Sam fought to hold back the tears that threatened to fall, as a thousand reasons why it was his fault flashed through his mind.

"Hey!" Dean did his best to raise his voice, which caused him to start coughing again. "I...mean it..." he said between coughs.

"Damnit, Dean," Sam attempted rubbing his brother's chest to comfort him through the smaller spell. "Just...just worry about getting better, okay? This isn't about me."

"Always gonna...worry about you...Sammy."

"Yeah well don't," Sam retorted. "Concentrate on getting through this, and you can worry later."

"Geez, man, you act like I could die or somethin'," he shrugged.

Sam's face flitted with a series of expressions Dean was able to translate immediately. "You could have," Sam told him. "If I'd waited much longer to bring you in, you could've died."

Dean's brows pinched in thought, as he looked somewhere in the air between them for a moment. "Well," he met Sam's eyes again as his face relaxed, "You got me here in time. Hell, you'd have got me...here before that if I hadn't...been a stubborn ass. You can blame Dad for that. Got it..from him, you know," he gave him another small smile.

"Bet you're glad I fought him, now, aren't you," Sam smiled back.

"Hey...you're stubborn too. Just about different...stuff. Some the same, I guess."

"Your fault."

"Probably," Dean replied, lids growing heavy.

"Go to sleep, Dean."

"Make me."

"Stubborn ass," Sam smiled and shook his head as Dean's eyes closed.


	10. Chapter 10

Later that night, Dean awoke to another coughing fit. But the nurses had prepared the rolled up blankets for him to hang on to. Dean, however, was not impressed. He told Sam they hadn't helped at all, and that if he had to cough like that again, he might actually bring up a few of the ribs he was sure had snapped off already. To which Sam, of course, checked to make sure they weren't actually broken, until Dean pushed his hands away from him.

Which was why now, right as the sun was coming up outside the big window on the far wall, and a new nurse came into the room while Dean was still peacefully sleeping, Sam decided to corner her. She seemed intimidated by his height, more than anything.

"Look," he started in a hushed tone, trying to keep in mind that she really had no idea how the past several hours had been spent. "My brother is in a lot of pain during his coughing fits, and the other nurse says there aren't any braces. They gave him some rolled blankets, but they're not doing anything to help him, and the pain meds they're giving him aren't helping. I'm afraid he's actually gonna damage something inside with the coughing. Is there seriously nothing else that can be done?"

"Sir, I'll have to check with the doctor, if he has any better suggestions. But I do know that they were right about us not having the braces right now," she spoke kindly, yet apologetic instead of condescending.

"Can't we, like, wrap his chest or something?" he suggested.

"For pneumonia patients," she said as she shook her head, "That would be dangerous. If we wrapped him, he wouldn't be taking deep enough breaths, and that could lead to fluid build up, not just in his lungs, but around his heart as well."

"There's gotta be something..." he was cut off at the groan coming from the bed. His entire body sparked with fear with the next sound, which indicated that Dean was going to need to cough again. After a momentary wide-eyed glance at the nurse, Sam hurried to Dean's side to help him sit up. Dean looked at him with agonized eyes, and Sam realized that he was holding his breath. "Dean, you can't hold it in, man. Gotta get that stuff up." Dean shook his head, pleadingly as his body convulsed with the involuntary spasming of his diaphragm, insisting that he allow the coughing to happen. "Dean..." and suddenly an idea sparked in his head. What Dean needed was something firm that would support his ribcage through the spell, right?. He could do that. He could totally do that. "Dean, hold on to me, okay?" he met Dean's desperate eyes. "Trust me."

Dean gave in, as he was running out of the ability to hold his breath against it any longer. He watched as Sam climbed halfway into the bed so he was near right in front of Dean, then wrapped his arms around Dean's torso, pressing his chest against Dean's, and supporting his back with both arms. His head rested pressed up against the front of Dean's shoulder.

"Okay, Dean, just hold on to me. Okay? Just go, Dean! Let it go!" Sam urged, and suddenly felt Dean's arms around him, clinging to the back of his shirt as the coughing spell completely took him over. Sam held onto him, firmly. But not so hard that he couldn't breathe. Dean's painful groans weren't so horrid as they had been in the night.

Sam was glad that this was helping, and he was willing to do this until it wasn't needed anymore. But as Dean's coughing continued, though really not any longer than any of the other spells, feeling every movement and hearing every wheeze and struggle and strained muscle, and the shaking from the strain, it was more intense. It made Sam's heart sink in his chest at every shaky intake of breath. And by the time it was over, Sam was more hugging Dean, than Dean was holding on to him for support.

"Sam?" Dean rasped.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

"I'm good," he replied, and Sam loosened his hold and pulled away. "That helped. Thanks," Dean told him.

"Water?" Sam asked, not yet meeting Dean's eyes as he helped him to lay back down. Dean grunted a response that meant yes, but kept his eyes on his brother, watching as he poured a small cup of water and put a straw in it. He still didn't meet Dean's eyes as he brought the straw to his lips and let him take a few sips. But Dean saw the wetness in his brother's eyes anyway. And when the younger man put the cup back on the table and moved to look away, Dean grabbed onto his arm and forced him to look at him.

"What's wrong, Sammy?" he asked. Sam made a face. "I'm fine dude. I mean, I will be fine. And thanks to you...that last coughing spell...wasn't so bad."

Sam took in a breath, then nodded to him, acknowledging the thank you and trying desperately to ward off the stinging in his eyes so that he could shove his fear and guilt back where it belonged for the time being...

*~.~*

"Okay, Dean," Dr. Carter said with a smile, "Looks like your vitals have all returned to normal levels. Oxygenation and blood pressure included." It had been four days since Dean had been brought into the ER. "Looks like your ready to be discharged."

"That's great news, Doc," Dean grinned.

"You're sure?" Sam asked the doctor, seeming worried that Dean might not be well enough to leave. Dean still had a cough. Though it wasn't quite as awful as it had been, it was still there, and it still hurt.

"I'm sure, Sam," Carter replied. "It's best he gets out of the hospital while he's getting better. There's always a risk of infection, being here. And that's the last thing Dean needs."

"He's sure, Sam," Dean said with a hint of aggravation. "I'm ready to blow this popsicle stand. No offense, Doc. As far as hospitals go, the service wasn't so horrifying."

"I'll...take that as a compliment," Carter shook his head with a smile. "Let me have the nurse get your discharge papers, and I'll send you home with some prescriptions we'll have filled here in our pharmacy for you. Same stuff we've been giving you here since yesterday morning. So this is your second course of antibiotics, Dean. It's important that you finish them."

"Why two different courses?" Dean asked.

"First one was some strong stuff we gave through your IV. It was a three-day course. But the pneumonia isn't gone yet, and we wanna keep helping your body to fight it, or you could get just as sick as you came in here like, and it'll be all the harder to help you get well."

"Which is why he should stay," Sam insisted.

"I'm not a child, Sam," Dean argued. "I can remember to take my meds." He turned to the doctor with a smirk, "Kid worries."

"If he stays, Sam," Dr. Carter explained, "He could pick up something that would definitely hurt him worse. Even with the meds in his system. His chances are better at home, with you looking after him. You've done a great job so far." Sam clenched his jaw, knowing the doctor was right, but still worried about Dean's health. Also, we just got a shipment of chest braces in, and we'll be sending one home with you," Carter told Dean.

"Excellent timing," Dean raised his brows, then looked over to Sam. "Just like the local PD, eh, Sammy?" Sam just shook his head.

*~.~*

"God, I feel like an old man," Dean grunted as Sam helped into their 'home', which happened to be a slightly more pricey hotel than they'd normally get. "And I know what that feels like, remember."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam helped him to the bed. "You want some pain killers?"

"Nah, not right now. Kinda hungry though. Can we get burgers?"

"I dunno if that's such a good idea."

"Why not? I've been stuck eating hospital food for days, Sam."

"Exactly. Like...practically baby food hospital food, too. I don't think your system can handle doing all that work right now. How about some soup? I can make a grocery run." As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He didn't want to leave Dean in the room again. Not while he was sick. Last time he'd done that...well, things hadn't turned out very well at all.

"Fine," Dean gave up rather quickly, to Sam's dismay. "Just hurry back, okay? I can probably get to the bathroom just fine. But I dunno if I'll be able to get back out here once I do."

"Chest still hurts pretty bad, huh?"

"Never stopped."

"Sure you don't want some pain killers?"

"Saving them for when it's real bad. And right now, it's tolerable."

"Okay, well...I'm leaving them on the night stand with some water," Sam told him. "And you phone is charging right next to them. Call me if you need me to hurry back."

"I already told you to hurry, dude."

"I mean like for an emer- never mind. I'll hurry. Don't do anything stupid."

"What the heck am I gonna do?" Dean gave him an incredulous look.

"Invite a girl over."

"Where the heck am I gonna find a girl, right now?"

"You don't really ever seem to have a problem with that."

Dean gave him a lopsided grin at that. "Aw, Sam..."

"Shut up," he replied as he opened the door to head out.

"Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam shook his head, but smiled as he closed the door behind him.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean had managed to put the chest brace on, after changing into a clean tee shirt and finding the remote to the TV. It was nice to have a little longer break in between coughing spells while being awake. Not much longer, but still a marked improvement from before. But he was waiting, now, ominously for the next one. He'd not coughed much since leaving the hospital half an hour ago, so he knew it was coming soon. And though he'd never admit it, he was kinda scared that it would happen without Sam here, even though part of him was glad he'd get a break from having to see him in the middle of it.

Dean knew Sam still felt guilty. Hell, it was written plain as day all over his face, even if Sam thought he was hiding it. Dean knew him too well. He knew every little wrinkle that appeared when he was holding something back. Every twitch in his jaw and of the corners of his lips when he was trying to appear unaffected. He knew things Sam didn't even realize he did when something was bothering him. And even though Dean and their father trained him well for purposes of hunting and getting information out of people, Dean never wanted to let Sam know that he still had little tells. Normal everyday people wouldn't see them, anyway. But if Dean made him aware, then there'd be nothing there to let him know when Sam was in trouble and hiding it.

Dean was pulled from him thoughts by the sudden feeling that he'd come to know all too well. It always started as a strange sort of fluttering in his chest when he breathed, and a weird cloudy feeling, followed by the beginning of the coughing spell, which had him rushing to sit up and brace himself. Only the brace wasn't really helping like he'd assumed it would. It was better than the blankets, but no where near as effective as Sam had been. And that made him start to panic.

The pain shot through him worse than he'd ever felt in the hospital, and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that it was because he was so sore and exhausted already, but the panic remained. He was yelling out between breaths, unintentionally, as each spasm was like a punch courtesy of Freddy Krueger. He begged whatever merciful being was closest to him for it to be over. And when it finally was, he collapsed onto his side and curled up into a ball, just trying to breathe and get his body to relax from its latest battle...

*~.~*

Sam set one of the two big paper bags full of groceries on the ground in front of the hotel room door, so that he could fetch the room key from his pocket. He unlocked the door, pushed on it slightly so that once he had the bag back in his hand he could use his shoulder to push it open the rest of the way. The bags were awkwardly bulky and heavy. Normally they didn't get this much stuff, but they were going to be there a while.

He kicked the door gently closed and turned around to see if Dean was awake. What he saw shocked him into dropping the bags to the floor. "Dean!" he hurried to the bed where his brother was curled up and shaking, face pale and glistening with a damp layer of sweat. "Dean, what happened? What's wrong?" he was kneeling on the bed, hovering over Dean as he felt his forehead and checked his pulse and waited for a reply.

Dean shoved the hand off of him. "'m fine, Sam. It's okay."

"You're not fine!"

"Brace doesn't work very well," he squeaked. "Had a spell, and it didn't help. That's all. Fuckin' hurts..."

"Damnit," Sam said in a rush of breath. "I shouldn't have left."

"Sam, come on. We needed food, and I'm not that bad. Seriously. It's not a set back or anything. And it's not like you can actually cough up a lung," he added as Sam helped him to sit up. Then he got a thoughtful look on his face before looking to his younger brother. "You can't, right?"

"What?"

"Cough up a lung. Wait...I think I saw an episode of Dr. Sexy where someone actually coughed up a lung... Oh damn."

"That show isn't real, Dean. It's not even realistic. You're not gonna cough up a lung. I'm worried you might cough up a rib, though," he grimaced, running hands over Dean's chest, making sure nothing was broken.

"Not broken," Sam told him, knowing what he was doing. "Keep waiting to hear them snap, but they haven't," his breath was labored, but from the pain. "I think I'll take those meds now."

"Yeah. Yeah, good idea," Sam turned and retrieved the bottle for him, opening it and giving him a proper dose, then handing him the bottle of water. "You hungry?"

"Did anything survive?" Dean raised a brow as he looked over at the fallen bags of groceries.

"Oh crap!" Sam had forgotten. He shot up from the bed and scrambled to pick everything up, grateful nothing had broken and split open.

"Toss me a pack of those saltines?" Dean requested as he watched Sam throw things back into the now upright bags. "Feel sick to my stomach." Sam looked over at him sympathetically, opening the box and pulling out a sleeve. But instead of tossing it, he stood and opened the package as he walked to hand them over. "I can open it," Dean grunted as he snagged the package.

"I know," Sam told him, not wanting Dean to be angry with him. He knew Dean didn't like to be babied, but he was sick and in pain and Sam just wanted to make it all go away. But he couldn't. So he wanted to do everything else, at least. And now he felt himself wanting to apologize, but knowing that might aggravate him even more. So he turned back to the groceries, bringing them into the kitchen area and putting everything away.

It was a few minutes before anyone said anything else. Sam was just finishing putting things away when Dean spoke. "I'm sorry." And Sam turned around, leaning on the counter, looking at him in question. "For snapping at you. I know you're just trying to help." Sam looking down for a moment. "And I really appreciate it, Sam." Sam looked up at him again. "I mean it. You've been takin' real good care of me."

"You don't have to apologize," he shook his head. "You're sick, and you're in a lot of pain. Of course you're gonna get frustrated. I can take it," he said with a little bit of a smirk. "And you don't have to thank me, either. You take care of me all the time. You always have. I figure I owe you."

"Yeah, well... We'll be even by the time this is over, I'm sure," he groaned as he pushed himself back against the headboard. "Man, I finally get outta that hospital where I spent most of my time sleeping, and I get here and all I feel like doing is sleeping."

Sam let out a small laugh, "Then go to sleep, man. Give the meds some time to kick in. I'm not going anywhere..."

*~.~*

An hour later, Dean felt himself floating back into a slightly more comfortable consciousness. He smelled something. Something he knew was food, but he wasn't quite aware enough to piece together what it was, exactly. He opened his eyes, realizing he was still sorta sitting up against the headboard where Sam had helped fix the pillows just right. Sam was standing at the stove, stirring something in a small pot.

"What's for dinner, Samantha?" Dean asked.

Sam turned his head with a raised brow. "Chicken noodle. And I've just been keeping it warm. Figured you'd be up soon. Hungry?"

"Yeah, but..." Dean swallowed, and Sam suddenly registered the look on his brother's face. He was about to have another spell, and he was panicking. Sam looked around for the brace, but recalled how Dean said it hadn't helped. "Sam...please..." Dean's eyes begged, and Sam was in the bed in a heart beat, wrapping his arms around Dean's middle, like they had so many times in the hospital, and Dean hung onto him like if he were to let go, he'd drift away into a million pieces.

The coughing fit didn't last quite as long as normal, but it still left him breathless and in pain; meds or not. Sam only let go of Dean's middle to move up and pull Dean into a normal embrace, soothing a hand down the back of his head and neck as he spoke words of comfort. Dean still held onto him fiercely, breaths shallow since the deeper they were, the more unbearable the pain was.

"It's okay. It's over," Sam said softly beside Dean's ear. "Just breathe. It's gonna be okay, Dean. I'm gonna try and find you something better for the pain. I promise."

"'m okay," Dean squeaked out. "Just...need a minute." Dean couldn't bring himself to move a single muscle, or shift in the slightest from the position he was in right now. It felt as though if he did, he might actually shatter. But Sam was holding onto him, and as girly chick-flickie as this was right now, Dean couldn't bring himself to give a single flying crap. What Sam was doing, rubbing his neck or whatever, was actually starting to loosen the tensed muscles and make it seem like he might actually maybe be able to move without dying, at some point.

And then Sam shifted and was rubbing his back, and Dean thought maybe Sam could read his mind. After a few minutes, Dean felt his own arms start to go slack and slowly drop away from Sam. He didn't even really want to leave the position, but that kind of pain was exhausting, and he couldn't hold himself up anymore. He felt Sam help him to sit back against the headboard again.

A cool washcloth on his face forced open eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed in the first place, and he saw Sam again, cleaning him up. "Hey," Sam said, quietly. "You okay?"

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean replied. "Sorry...sorry, I think that...one earlier really did a...number on me. Glad you were...here for this one. You make a really good brace."

Sam laughed at that. "Any time." He tossed the washcloth onto the side table. "Think you're ready for soup?" Dean nodded. "One condition." Dean furrowed his brow in question. "You're kinda shaky, so you gotta let me feed you. If you spill all over yourself, that's more work for me than it is to sit here and help you to eat in the first place."

Dean let out a slow breath. "Alright, I guess. Assuming...you didn't burn it."

"Very funny."

"No, I mean, the...stove's still on."

"Crap!"

Dean smirked as he watched Sam panic all the way back to the stove.


	12. Chapter 12

Three weeks later...

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Sam shouted over the music Dean had blasting in the Impala, as he drove them down the highway.

"I'm fine," Dean fought not to roll his eyes. "If I had to spend one more day in that room, I was gonna lose it."

Sam reached over and turned down the volume. "It's just..." he sighed, "You're not exactly at a hundred percent, Dean."

"Relax, Sammy," he sent a cocky smile in Sam's direction. "Dean Winchester at ninety percent is still a good forty percent more awesome than most hunters," he winked, and reached over to turn the volume back up. Sam shook his head.

Dean had been going stir-crazy for a couple of days, now. Last night, he'd managed to smuggle Sam's laptop while he was sleeping, and found them a case about a hundred miles away. It took a fair amount of arguing, but Dean somehow had managed to convince Sam that they had to go, and that it would be totally fine. A simple ghost problem. He'd even managed to figure out who the spirit belonged to, and where he was buried, thanks to a series of connecting articles he'd found online. Seemed simple enough...

*~.~*

As they'd planned, they made it to the cemetery by nightfall. Dean was a little stiff when he got out of the car, but he pushed through it and went to open the trunk so they could get the supplies they'd need. They both grabbed shovels, before Sam took Dean's away and threw it back into the trunk with a laugh.

"There's no way in hell, Dean," Sam told him.

"Fine," Dean grabbed the duffel bag and shut the trunk.

"Where's this grave supposed to be?" Sam asked as he turned on his flashlight at the same time as Dean.

"Couldn't find that information, except that it's in this cemetery," Dean replied, suddenly feeling fairly exhausted after the drive. "But his family didn't have much money, so I'm guessing either a small stone or just a marker," he told him as they started out into the field, weaving through the plots.

"What was his name, again?" Sam asked, stopped at a marker.

"Arnold Portersen," Dean replied.

"We're in luck," he smirked. "That didn't take long at all."

"Yeah, well, don't forget you're diggin' on your own," Dean replied.

"I can dig a grave faster than you can," Sam raised a brow, smiling a bit at his brother.

"Yeah, yeah. Maybe right now. Just get to work, Sasquatch."

"You wanted us to come out here so bad, and now you're in a rush?" Sam shot back, amused.

"I'm in a rush not to get caught by a night-shift groundskeeper," Dean corrected. "And I'm far past due for ending a psycho killer from beyond."

Sam could hear the change in Dean's voice, as he began digging. "You okay?"

"Dude, I'm fine," he replied, defensively. "Let's just get this show on the road, huh?"

Sam scrunched his face for a moment before he continued digging...

*~.~*

Sam's breath was heavily labored as he got closer to the coffin. Dean felt bad that he had to do all that himself. But as he lowered himself to sit on the ground, he knew there was no way he'd have been able to help. Hell, he'd just been standing there keeping watch, and he felt as out of breath as Sam. Then, without any warning, he began to cough. Followed by the sound of shovel hitting dirt stopping. He looked down where he shined the flashlight at Sam, and the younger brother was looking worriedly up at him.

"'s okay, dude," Dean insisted, coughing again. "You're almost there. Don't stop now." The cough wasn't anything like the spells in earlier weeks, so Sam took his word and continued digging. And as soon as Dean knew his eyes were off him, he grabbed his chest and clamped his eyes shut against the horrific pain that still flared hot from the jolting movement of coughing. Somewhere in the background of his ability to hear, he registered the familiar sound of shovel hitting casket, and knew Sam was getting ready to crack it open.

He reached for the duffel and retrieved the salt and lighter fluid, looking back down at his brother as he pulled open the planks of wood from the top of the box, revealing the bones of Mr. Portersen, covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve to ward the waft of smell that accompanied it. Sam looked up at Dean, and Dean tossed down the supplies, then turned his head and let out another small cough.

In the already cool air, it was almost unnoticeable when the temperature suddenly dropped. But Dean was very aware of the increase in vapor his breath caused, and knew what that meant.

"Dude... We got company," he told Sam.

"Groundskeeper?" Sam asked in a bit of a hushed voice as he looked up.

"I wish," Dean replied. And suddenly Sam caught on, as his breath vapor was clear in the beam of the flashlight. "Crap-" was all Sam heard before the flashlight dropped into the grave with him. Dean was gone.

"Dean?" Sam shouted. "Dean!"

"Hurry, Sam!" he heard him in the distance, and it kick-started his adrenaline to douse the bones in the lighter fluid and salt simultaneously, then he quickly pulled himself out of the grave, searching around for his brother as he struck and lit the pack of matches in his hand. He dropped the flaming batch into the grave, which immediately engulfed in flames, as expected. Then he looked around again.

"Dean?" he called out. "Dean, where are you?" he pulled his flashlight out of his back pocket and frantically began searching the perimeter. Images started popping into his head. The information Dean had given him on the case, earlier that day, came flowing back into his mind. Particularly how the spirit was killing its victims. All coroners reports came back saying that they had died do to unexplained asphyxiation. The spirit had smothered them, somehow.

This terrified Sam. Dean's lungs were still recovering. If the spirit had done this to him...

"Dean?" he called out again. His silence made Sam's eyes sting with tears. Dean hadn't even fired off any rounds, before Sam had gotten up out of that grave. And what if it was the wrong body? What if the spirit still had him and was killing him right then?

Sam stopped, mid-step, and listened. He could hear the sound of coughing. He followed it, actually back-tracing from where he'd come, and found his brother sitting back against a large tombstone, one hand on his chest and another over his mouth. "Dean!" he scrambled to him, skidding down to his knees in front of him. "Dean, are you okay? Are you hurt?" his hands sought out injury over Dean's body.

Dean's hand reached out and grabbed onto Sam's jacket, making him look in his eyes. "Knocked...the wind...outta...me..." Dean heaved breaths between words. "'m'okay... Promise...no bleeding..."

"Damnit, Dean," Sam sighed a breath of relief. "Scared the hell outta me, man."

"Sorry," he replied. "My bad... Couldn't answer...when you were...calling me..."

"It's okay. I'm just glad you're okay. C'mon," he stood and made to help him up. "Let's get you outta here." He pulled Dean up, and Dean yelped at the pain that shot through his chest. "Dude?" Sam worriedly shifted his grip on him to keep him upright. "Thought you said you were okay?"

Dean groaned out a frustrated, pained breath. "Threw me," he explained. "Thumped me down...on the ground. Fuckin'...ribs...are pissed... But not broken."

"You sure?"

"Damnit, Sammy... Car. Now, please," he demanded. Sam complied, helping him to the Impala and ignoring the burning grave, knowing it'd eventually go out on its own, and that they'd be long gone before anyone saw it...

*~.~*

It took a few miles of road before Dean was okay to talk again. He'd been laying in the back seat, watching from the corner of his eye for every time Sam glanced in the rear view at him. He knew Sam was worried. But he knew he was also kinda mad, too. He was just too worried to let himself show the pissed off part, yet. And that level of worry was pretty intense, because Winchester-worry usually presented itself with a huge argument about how stupid said person was for having done said thing and almost getting themselves killed. Usually followed by how, in turn, it would've gotten others killed, too. Dean was sure Sam would calm down enough soon enough, and that'd come.

"You were right," Dean said, breaking the silence. Sam looked at him in the rear view. "I wasn't ready. I'm not ready to be back, yet," he confessed. Sam's eye muscles twitch with confusion, not because he didn't understand what his brother was saying, but because he was admitting it. "I mean sure, we saved a few people. You got the job done, and that town is safe again; from supernatural stuff, anyway. But I put you in danger." Their eyes met in the mirror. "Hell, I felt the exhaustion by the time we reached the grave marker. I was hurting before you even got the damn thing open. I was in no shape to even keep watch and protect you while you smoked that corpse. I'm damn lucky it decided to focus on me and let you be. Who knows what would've happened... And I'm sorry, Sam," he told him, sincerity in his eyes, along with regret. "You were right. I was being stubborn, and I'm sorry."

"Dean..." Dean could see whatever anger might've been loaded up for later dissipate. "It's okay."

"No. No it's not okay, Sammy. That's why I..." he looked down for a moment, then met his eyes in the mirror again. "No more hunting. Not until you say so."

Sam's brows rose, "Really?"

"Yeah, really. Just this once...I mean with this pneumonia crap. Don't think that you get to make that call for every damn injury I get from here on out," he pointed out. "Let me just make that perfectly clear."

Sam smiled a genuine smile, letting out a near-silent laugh, "Okay."

"We good?"

"Yeah. We're good," his smile remained.

Dean did a double-take at the mirror a few moments later, when Sam's smile still remained, and he seemed to be thinking a million miles a minute. "Oh crap," Dean groaned. "You're making plans already, aren't you?"

"I'm thinking we might actually go somewhere fun," Sam replied. "This could be good, Dean."

"God, shoot me... I'm going to sleep, Sam. I swear if I wake up in Disney World, I'm so kicking your ass."

"What's wrong with Disney World?" Sam's mouth curved down in a confused frown.

"Just...just no, Sam."

"It's warm..."

"There's a lot of warm places," Dean retorted. "Most of them being warmer than where we've been for the past couple of months, in fact. No Disney."

"Fine."

"I mean it."

"I know! Go to sleep. Gosh..."

"Wake me up if you get tired."

"If I get tired, you'll wake up in front of a motel."

"Fair enough."

Silence overtook the car again, and Sam continued to glance in the mirror at his brother, who he could tell was having a hard time falling asleep, even though he wasn't much moving. The creases in his forehead hadn't gone away, and his mouth pinched a bit.

"Hey, Dean?"

Without opening his eyes, Dean mumbled, "Yeah?"

"You sure you're okay?"

Dean opened his eyes and looked at his brother for a long moment. He knew he'd just set himself back a bit in healing time, with what happened in the cemetery. There was no sense in trying to pretend like he didn't feel like he'd been hit by another truck.

"You pull over whenever you see a decent motel, and I won't complain," he told him. Sam's face washed with relief, and Dean hadn't even realized just how much worry the kid had actually been holding on to until that moment.

"Just a little further," Sam told him. "We'll be there soon." He was glad that Dean was giving in to further help, letting him take care of him, even though the pneumonia was technically gone now. He could take care of Dean. Taking care of someone, he could totally do. He'd had a good teacher. The best in the whole world...

~Fin~


End file.
